


Invincible Summer

by Emma



Series: The Homecoming Universe [10]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-04
Updated: 2012-08-04
Packaged: 2017-11-11 10:53:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/477769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emma/pseuds/Emma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Year That Never Was comes back to haunt Tish Jones and it’s up to John and Andy to help her exorcise the ghost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer. Camus

            The small house – and how typical of Jack Harkness to call the elegant Italianate villa a country cottage – nestled high above the bay, surrounded by a luxurious garden.  A path led through a wildflower-dotted meadow and into the woods behind it. The only connection to the outside world was through an access lane that meandered upwards to join the Eastbourne road on the other side of the hill.

             Tish Jones pulled into the parking area in the courtyard at the rear of the house. As in most places she had seen during the drive, the formal entry faced the ocean side, and it was the kitchen entrance that saw all the traffic. This one was beautifully landscaped. Opposite the parking area, a retaining wall held the hill back; two small pear trees had been espaliered on it, and a wrought-iron bench placed between them. Tish could see herself sitting there in the morning sipping hot tea and listening to the distant, faint sound of the surf. Near the door, in a sunny spot, a tiny kitchen garden was planted with herbs and lavender.

             Leaving the suitcase for later she opened the door and went in. The kitchen was a long, narrow room running the whole length of the house. Martha had mentioned that after getting the house Jack and Ianto had completely modernised the interior, but it looked like most of the work had been structural, because the kitchen was a Victorian showplace. Even the ultramodern appliances were cleverly disguised.

             At the other end of the room, an antique oak table and chairs had been placed next to a window. On its center, a beautiful ceramic jug held lavender and hot pink roses. A cream-colored envelope was propped against the jug. Tish recognized Ianto's expensive stationary. She giggled in delight at the formal _Doctor Letitia Jones, PhD_ in Jack's most elegant handwriting. It was their own personal joke, addressing each other by their full name and title with punctilious courtesy, a charm, Tish had come to realize, against the memory of being only _freak_ and _slave_. Opening the envelope, she pulled out the note and read:

  _Tish, sweetheart,_

_Welcome to the Beekeeper's Cottage. We hope you make yourself at home. Nuestra casa es vuestra casa. Remember, everything has been taken care of, so all you need to do is relax. Take the first bedroom on the right at the top of the stairs. You'll see why._

_Jack and Ianto_

_All you need to do is relax._ Tish wondered if she ever could. After the Valiant, she had not been able to face going back to public relations. The idea of manipulating people's opinions and feelings made her nauseous, but she had to do something or go insane. At Jack's suggestion she had gone back to University, courtesy of the Torchwood slush fund, sampling everything and anything. Almost immediately she had discovered a facility for languages and a craving to know and understand other cultures and society. With her teachers' encouragement it had been an easy leap to anthropological linguistics.

             Even before she had completed her undergraduate degree, Torchwood had come knocking on her door. _It's very simple,_ Jack had told her. _We have languages to study that require a more extensive knowledge of the real Universe than the average don has and a radioactive-level security clearance. You have both._

 It turned out she had a talent for alien languages and cultures. She had immersed herself in the work and never looked back. Until a few months' before, when her father's sudden death had thrown her into a downward spiral. She had panic attacks triggered by sounds – the clanging of metal doors drove her to her knees – and she had started to sleepwalk again. After a particularly bad episode, Francine had summoned Jack, who had prescribed rest and relaxation. When she balked he had given her an ultimatum: the cottage or St. Michael's psychiatric evaluation ward.

             A low rumble of thunder drew her out of her memories. The sky had darkened; she could see clouds moving rapidly inland. Ianto had mentioned that this time of year storms could come up quite suddenly. She decided to unpack and then explore the house a little before supper.

             The kitchen opened into a short corridor heading to the two-story foyer. Semicircular stairs with an elaborate banister led to the first floor. About halfway up, a shorter flight branched out, leading to the back of the house. She could see a single door at the end of a short corridor. Knowing Jack's tastes, Tish was willing to bet that a luxurious master suite lay hidden behind that door.

             She continued up to the first floor landing. Three doors led to guest bedrooms. As instructed, she took her suitcase into the first one on the right, and found herself sighing in delight.

             The room was obviously designed with a woman in mind. A huge bed with a curved, padded headboard was dressed in cream linens trimmed with Irish lace. Beyond it, French doors led to a tiny balcony. Matching linen drapes framed the stunning view beyond. On the wall opposite the bed a fireplace was flanked with shelves holding books and antiques. A chaise had been placed near the fireplace, with an elegant standing lamp and a table just big enough for a tea tray beside it. The last wall was occupied by an enormous armoire with mirrored doors. At the far end, a door led into a tiny but perfectly appointed bathroom. Next to the bed, another small table held more lavender and roses.

             She circled the room, delighting her senses with the scents and textures of this perfect sanctuary. She lay down on the chaise, stretching luxuriously, noticing that it had a good view of the cliffs and the sea beyond. She buried her face in the flowers, filling her lungs with the soft scents. She explored the bookcase, amused by the inclusion of several volumes of Victorian pornography among the mysteries and biographies.

             Her plan to unpack was abandoned when she threw open the armoire doors and found an exquisite peignoir and nightgown set in her favorite gold-brown shade hanging inside. A small note was pinned to the hanger: _there is a time where sweats no longer do. Ianto._

            She burst into tears. She slept in gray t-shirts and sweatpants, hating any reminder of the times she had been forced to wear seductive clothes to be displayed as a trophy, but also hating the fears that kept her from indulging her feminine side. She struggled for control, then gave up and cried for what seemed like hours. There was an odd kind of joy in feeling safe enough to let go and stop being strong. Part of her relished the outburst while at the same time another part felt both terrified and disgusted at the loss of control.

             When the emotional storm subsided, she found that the real storm had moved in. Rain and wind lashed the window, and thunder rolled directly overhead. Tish felt soothed by the sounds. She decided to treat herself to an utterly lazy, sensuous evening. Checking the bathroom shelves, she found them stocked with a collection of expensive bath products, including her own favorite, Guerlain's L’Heure Bleue.  She started the tub, then ran downstairs to assemble a tray of fruit, cheese, and biscuits. She found a bottle of champagne cooling _(thank you, Jack_ ), and flutes in the glass cupboard. Back in the bathroom, she sprinkled the steaming water with bath oil, arranged her kitchen loot on the bathroom tray _(thank you, Ianto),_ then sank back into the steaming water, flute in one hand and a bunch of grapes on the other.

             She stayed in until her fingers and toes turned pruney, replenishing the water as it cooled and dozing from time to time. When she emerged, she wrapped herself in one of the enormous bath sheets, patted herself dry, and slathered all over with rich cream. In conscious defiance of her resurrected terror, she crawled into bed nude.

             She surprised herself by sleeping through the night and waking up rested. The storm had spent itself overnight. The sky was a gorgeous blue and the ocean beyond the cliffs looked like a sheet of glass. She spent the day exploring the house and grounds, listening to music, sampling the goodies in the pantry, and reading. She couldn’t remember being so relaxed in years.

             The next day she decided to walk to Fulworth. The town nested in the curve of the bay and could be reached by a couple of miles’ walk along the rocky beach. Steps had been cut into the cliff from the far end of the rose garden to a secluded cove directly below the house. She meandered along, stopping often to inspect the tidal pools dotting the beach, to examine the glittery foam at the edge of the surf, or just to admire the picture-postcard beauty of the small town. Fulworth was obviously an undiscovered gem. There was no sign of the pseudo-quaint “tea shoppes” or game arcades so ubiquitous in the more popular seaside resorts. Its single paved street was lined with cottages in varying states of repair and shops patronised by locals. Steep lanes climbed up towards the homes of the wealthier inhabitants. One, wider and paved with brick, led to the lychgate of a squat Norman church.

             As she reached the paved section of road, Tish caught the succulent scents of baking. Tossing dietary caution to the winds, she made a beeline for a small shop with outdoor bistro-style tables already crowded with folk indulging in high-calorie treats. As she passed them she got the usual once-over reserved for strangers. One man, an older, bearded gent with deep blue eyes, wearing a fisherman’s jumper and boots, nodded. She smiled and nodded back. He reminded her of someone, but she couldn’t quite figure out whom. Probably someone from one of her father’s old black and white movies; the gent had that sort of iconic face.

             The shop was decorated in a high-Victorian style, with ornate mirrors behind the counter and silver-plated epergnes holding small samples. A young woman in full Goth regalia smiled at her as she walked up.

             “Hello. Get lost on your way to somewhere?”

             “No. I’m vacationing here.”

             “You must be the lady up at the Holmes house.” At Tish’s obvious confusion, she explained. “It’s what we call it around here. My mum works for the Captain and Mr. Jones, so you’ll meet all of us at one time or another.” She leaned over the counter confidentially. “Are they really gay? I mean, exclusively, no bi? Because they are so gorgeous, the both of them, it would be a pity.”

             Tish laughed. “No, they’re not exclusively gay but they are exclusively for each other, I’m afraid.”

             “Oh well. True love, I suppose. What would you like?”

             “One of the cranberry-orange muffins and a cup of tea, please.”

             While she waited, Tish watched the street scene reflected in the mirror. She was a city child and the country was a foreign place to her. The old woman walking by with her daily shopping, the head of a fish peeking out of her basket; the old man fishing from the breakwater; the girl at one of the tables, notebook and pen in hand, staring into the distance…

             Surprisingly, she spotted a familiar face. Brigadier Marcus Shaw of UNIT, she was sure of it, even though he was out of uniform and looking for all the world like a Cockney on holiday. She was heading out to say hello when she noticed the woman next to him. Elizabeth Arnsley-Norton, one of the Prime Minister’s senior assistants, confidant, and reputedly a bit more, clung to Shaw’s arm like a trophy wife at a political reception.  If the two of them were… well, whatever… they might not appreciate being hailed by someone who could take the tale back to London. Especially a Torchwood someone.

             She watched as they stopped at the table where the iconic gentleman who had nodded to her was sitting. They greeted him  like an old friend; his answer was a curt nod and a wave. And suddenly, Tish realized why he had seemed so familiar.

             Colonel Joseph Stannick, UNIT advisor to Prime Minister Harold Saxon on the Valiant.

             Tish felt as if all her muscles had seized, locking her in place, while she shook to pieces inside. Stannick the butcher of Tokyo. Stannick the glacial martinet who terrified his own troops and even gave the mad Time Lord pause. Stannick, the man who had protected her from Saxon’s excesses by claiming her as a prize of war and then sleeping chastely by her side for months, only looking, always looking, keeping her on display for his eyes only until she had come to feel rape would have been better than the wordless power struggle she always lost every night, endlessly, forever.

             Stannick had disappeared during the chaotic days after Saxon’s death. And now he was here, meeting with UNIT and government officials in an out of the way village in Sussex.

             She needed to get to Jack.

             Forcing herself to move, she turned to the counter girl, who was looking at her quizzically. Tish realized she must have been trying to get her attention for a while.

             “Sorry. I seem to be developing a migraine. Could you make that takeaway?”

             “Oh, my mum suffers from those. Terrible, they are, make her lose the balance and trip all over herself. Why don’t you come back to the garden,” she pointed to the door at the back of the store, “and sit down for a while in the sun? It always makes mum feel better.”

             “Thank you…”

             “Annie. Annie Lovett.”

             “Thank you, Annie. I’ll take you up on that.”


	2. Chapter 2

            Andy Davidson hung on for dear life as the Ferrari cornered without slowing, sliding across the wet pavement, then accelerated downhill until it felt as if they were barely skimming the surface of the road. Under different circumstances he would have been screaming at John to slow down, but he had caught Jack’s urgency, not to mention his rage. Like ninety-eight percent of the world’s population Andy did not remember the year that had been erased from Time itself – a concept that made his head spin in distinctly unpleasant ways – but he had picked up enough to know terrible, monstrous things had thankfully been undone. He had once asked Jack what had happened to Cardiff; Jack’s soft, final _leave it Andy_ had chilled him to the bone.

             Once Jack had finished talking to Professor Jones, he had gone into overdrive. Since he seldom bothered to throw his weight around, Andy sometimes forgot exactly how much power Jack Harkness could wield when it suited him. And this time, it suited him in spades. Even before John and Andy finished packing some very highly placed folk were stuttering through explanations. Andy was willing to bet that just about now, a number of government departments and quasi-official agencies were marching to the beat of the Torchwood drum. Andy expected nothing less.

             What he hadn’t expected was John’s reaction. When Jack had mentioned Stannick, John had gone tight-lipped and very, very calm. Over the years, Andy had learned that John was at his most dangerous when he seemed most still, in the same way that he was at his most sincere when he was most quiet. Stannick’s name had sent John into an unholy rage.

             He studied the man next to him. John hadn’t changed much in the last ten years, except to become leaner, more spare, more angular. He could still be a sarcastic arsehole when he felt like it, but mostly he seemed to enjoy taking the mickey in a friendly fashion.  His personal life was a closed book, although he was catnip to most women and a wide sampling of men. Andy supposed he was John’s closest associate, but that didn’t mean he knew him better than anyone else.

             “Like what you see?”

             Andy blinked. “Huh?”

             “You’re looking at me like I’m a candy bar and your blood sugar is dropping.”

             “Yeah, right.” Andy decided to take the plunge. “John, who’s this guy Stannick?”

             “What makes you think I know?”

             “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the fact that you turned into a fucking pillar of ice when Jack said his name may have something to do with it.”

             “You’re getting good a sarcasm, you know? Still lacks a proper cadence, but not bad.”

             “And you’re changing the subject.”

             “Probably.” John glanced at him, “Jack will kill me when he finds out I told you. He’s worked very hard to make sure none of you know much about that year.”

             “I think you can handle Jack. So…”

             “Stannick was one of Saxon’s closest allies. But you know that.” John’s voice shook slightly. “He’s also the guy who killed Gwen and Rhys.”

             “But they’re… oh.” Andy rubbed suddenly sweaty hands on his jeans. “I guess Torchwood would be a target.”

             “It was a bit more complicated than that.  Cardiff gave Saxon a lot of trouble, Andy. He took draconic measures to break the city. People fled into the Brecons. Torchwood helped set up refugee camps, especially for children who had lost their parents. One day, Gwen and Rhys drove a truckload of supplies up to one of them. Stannick was flying in for a meet with the local authorities. He spotted the camp and decided to practice his marksmanship. Everyone died. Fifty-seven kids, twelve adult minders, and Gwen and Rhys. Their truck exploded.”

             “Duw.” Andy shuddered. “And me, John? What happened to me? Where was I when all my friends were dying?”

             “Andy…”

             “If this damned past that never was is coming back to haunt us, I need to know!”

             “Fair enough. You were Torchwood’s secret weapon, Andy. You stayed in the police force even after it became a military command, and kept Torchwood informed of what was happening. Saxon knew there was a spy in the ranks, but they never found you.”

             “And you, John? Don’t bother to tell me you read up on it or something. This is personal to you.”

             “Some Toclafane found their way to the future through the Rift. I chased them back to Cardiff and got trapped there for the duration. I managed to get out right before time reversed itself, so I kept all my memories.”

             The flat delivery told Andy exactly how deeply painful John’s memories were. He briefly wondered when the hell he had become such an expert on John Hart.

             “Bloody Torchwood,” he muttered.

             “What?”

             “Never mind. What about professor Jones?”

             “Why do you call her that?”

             “Well, when I first met Martha, it was doctor Jones, right? So the other doctor Jones was professor Jones, just to keep them separate. Then Martha was Martha. It’s like family but I don’t know professor Jones well enough. I wouldn’t feel right calling her anything else.”

             “That makes some sort of perverse sense,” John mused. “Tish’s family were kept as… servants I guess would be the polite term… on the Valiant. Saxon’s way of punishing Martha. I don’t know specifics about Tish, but I know Jack is very protective of her.”

             “I  noticed. He nearly lost it this morning when she called. And the way he said Stannick’s name… “Andy pulled out his phone. “She’s probably not exactly steady herself. Let’s not give her any more shocks.”

             He pressed a single button.

             “You have her on speed-dial?”

             “Twypsyn. I have you all on speed dial.” He waved John to silence. “Hello, professor Jones. It’s Andy Davidson… yes. We’ll be there in fifteen minutes or so…supper would be lovely, we’ve been driving nonstop all day.”

             They pulled into the courtyard a few minutes early. The kitchen light was on, and they could see Tish moving around. Trading an exasperated look, they hurried to knock on the door. It opened without any hesitation.

             “Dammit, Tish,” John groused, “ did you forget every basic security rule you have ever been taught?”

             “And good evening to you too, John, Andy.” She pointed at an open cupboard, were a small flat screen showed views of the surrounding area. “Jack does paranoid really well.”

             “I’d forgotten about that,” John admitted.

             “Ignore him, professor Jones. He gets cranky when he isn’t fed.” Andy closed and locked the door behind him “But I will say that a rifle with telescopic sights can defeat any security system.”

             “Not Stannick,” Tish said with conviction. “Whatever he’s going to do, he’ll want me to see his face before he does it.”

             She moved to the stove, where a big pot simmered. “Lentil soup. Vegetarian. I also have some egg mayonnaise and tomatoes for sandwiches.”

             “Sounds terrific,” Andy said. “John, would you choose some wine? You know about that stuff. I’ll set the table, shall I?”

             They started assembling their meal. It surprised Andy how comfortably they worked together, teasing each other and trading small friendly insults. He’s worked with John for more than a decade, and they had developed an easy, efficient rhythm, but personally they didn’t socialize unless it was a team thing. Not that they didn’t know each other  -- when you spend three-quarters of your life in close contact with someone you get to know them very well – but  this level of personal comfort was… odd. If only because in the presence of someone like Tish Jones men were more likely to behave like mountain goats butting horns.

             He examined her on the pretext of looking at the CCTV feed. Like Martha, she had aged beautifully. She had Francine’s cheekbones, but her face was softer. Her hair was a tight cap of curls clustered around her face and tendriling down her neck. Add a figure a woman twenty years younger would kill for, brains, wit, and temper, and you had yourself one hell of a sexy lady.

             Duw. Better do something or the tent in front of his trousers would give him away.

             “Table done,” he announced brightly. “I’ll take our luggage up while you’re finishing supper.”

             He hurried out – not before intercepting a knowing grin from John – pulled his duffel bag and John’s small suitcase  out of the boot and trundled them upstairs. By the time he was back in the kitchen the other two were sitting at the table waiting. He noticed John had closed the blinds and made professor Jones sit away from the window.

             “Come on, Andy,” Tish said. “We’re starving.”

             “Sorry, professor Jones. You should have started without me.”

             “Francine’s child? Not likely.’ She reached across the table and patted his hand. “And it’s Tish. Please.”

            “Tish it is.” He tasted the soup. “Wow. You’re a good cook.”

             “Not really. Lentil soup is one of my twelve recipes.”

             “Martha told me about those.” At John’s quizzical look, he explained. “Mrs. Jones insisted all her children learn to cook twelve recipes perfectly. She says that between twelve recipes and takeaway anyone can keep a family well fed.”

             “Sounds logical.”

             Tish spooned some egg mayonnaise on a piece of toast and popped it into her mouth. She tried to communicate by hand signals  but only succeeded in  turning the conversation into a game of charades with Andy and John making sillier and sillier suggestions.

             “Oi, you two!” She finally managed to blurt out. “Enough with the bad jokes! What exactly are you doing here? Other than being my bodyguards, that is.”

             “It turns out Fulworth has an interesting history,” John said. “In 1783, a ship returning from North Africa was caught in a sudden storm a few miles out in the Channel. It managed to make it to the entrance of the old bay before it foundered.”

             “Old bay?”

             “Fulworth has gone through several incarnations.  Once every two or three hundred years the cliff goes _swoosh_ ” John made a downward motion with his hand, “and people rebuild, each time a little differently. Anyway. The Lady Eve went down right at its front door. Over the next few days stuff started washing up on the beach. The story goes that one of the things that washed up was a casket full of gold jewelry. Wonder of wonders, the people of Fulworth kept to the straight and narrow and took the casket to the church for safekeeping. Unfortunately, two nights later a massive gale beat the crap out the area. Not only did part of the cliff collapse, but the storm surge washed several houses and part of the church out to sea.”

             “That’s a nice story, but what does it have to do with Stannick?”

             “Fast forward to 1934. A Torchwood expedition was excavating the remains of a Templar fort near Brega in Libya. There were rumors of a cache of Alhabaar artifacts…”

             “Bloody hell.”

             “My sentiments exactly.”

             “Who are these Alhabaar people?” Andy asked.

             “Were. The Alhabaar ruled a chunk of this galaxy at one point. Highly developed culture, aesthetically as well as militarily. Hated violence but loved to be top dog. Their solution was to embed neural manipulation nets into damn near everything and everyone.” Tish smiled grimly. “Bastards were into mind control. And you think the casket full of jewelry…”

             “Let’s just say that Torchwood researchers were able to locate the fort by studying the diaries of one Sir Thomas Eccleston, a wealthy amateur archeologist whose ship, the Lady Eve, went down on its return from the Mediterranean.”

             “Mind control.” Tish tossed back the last of her wine. “That would certainly appeal to Stannick. He was quite Alhabaaran in outlook. You’re going to try to find it?”

             “That’s the idea.”

             “What sort of cover are you going to use?”

             “Well. Jack thought that we could be friends of yours, visiting from London.”

             “Friends as in…”

             “Exactly. If we play it right, they’ll be so busy figuring out who’s sleeping with whom that they won’t even think about anything else.” John grinned impudently. “Close your mouth, Andy.  It’s not an attractive expression and you’re supposed to be very appealing… to both of us.”


	3. Chapter 3

            The first thing Tish noticed when she woke up the next morning was the heavenly scent of freshly brewed coffee drifting up from the kitchen. Smiling contentedly, she jumped up and padded barefoot into the bathroom. After taking care of her full bladder and washing the remnants of sleep from her face, she decided to climb back into bed. She needed to think.

             From the moment John had told her about Jack’s plan, she wondered what the hell the Torchwood leader was up to. She had expected to be yanked back to Cardiff under heavy guard; instead she had been thrown headfirst into an investigation where she would be facing all her worst fears. And to top it all off, he had tossed two very sexy, male males at her. She remembered something Martha had told her once: _Jack will do what he thinks it’s best for you, even if it means putting you through hell. The damned thing is, he’s usually right._

             What remained was figuring out what she was going to do about it.

             Jack was giving her a choice. If she cut and ran he would never, ever give her a moment’s grief. But did she want to? Over the years her life had become unbearably narrow. It had purpose and discipline, and even a measure of contentment, but no passion and certainly very little joy. She had managed to make it work but her father’s sudden death had broken something inside her and everything she had repressed had started gushing out. She could repair the cracks in the dam and go on the way she had been or she could take a hammer to the whole fucking thing and grow.

             At least a little. She didn’t think she would ever be ready for… John or Andy. She wasn’t even ready to think about that.

             She slid out of bed and started to get ready for the day. Presenting a polished façade was second nature, but she found herself applying makeup with a view to attraction rather than merely elegance. She pulled on her best lace camisole and panty set, black jeans, and a v-neck dark green cashmere jumper, and finished with big gold hoops and mid-heeled boots.

             As she stared at herself in the mirror it occurred to her that if she wanted to discourage the interest she had seen in Andy’s and John’s eyes she was going about it the wrong way. Returning to the bathroom she ruthlessly wiped off most of her makeup, exchanging the deep red lipstick for a barely tinted gloss, but as she started to strip her clothes off, she was nearly shoved to her knees by a wave of anger and grief. If she wanted to grow, she had to start somewhere. Defiantly, she added two copper and gold bracelets to complement the hoops in her ears, smoothed down her jumper, and started out to face her… choices.

             John and Andy were obviously already on their second or third cup of coffee by the time she entered the kitchen. She was greeted by cheery hellos and wolf-whistles; Andy jumped up and pulled out a chair. As she slid into it, John presented her with a cup of coffee and a slice of buttered toast.

             “Perfect service. My thanks, gentlemen.”

             “Our pleasure.” Andy smiled down at her. “Would you like eggs or something? I am considered a decent breakfast cook.”

             “No, thank you, Andy.” This will do nicely until we get into town.”

             They waited patiently until she finished, keeping up a light-hearted banter. It gave her the chance to observe them. John Hart, the man who playfully referred to himself as ‘Jack’s ex-wife,’ was the kind of man who attracted attention by simply walking into a room, and he knew it. He dressed to reinforce the first impression – fitting jumpers, perfectly tailored trousers, and handmade leather boots and coat. He looked… hell, he looked like sex on the hoof, with eyes that would draw a woman in, wild, all-knowing eyes, full of sin and invitation. Rumor was, he would have no problem keeping her once he got her, but never seemed interested in stopping for long.

             Andy Davidson, on the other hand, looked exactly like what he was, a very fit middle-aged policeman; even Torchwood people referred to him as ‘the copper’.  He had the kind of harmless face that made witnesses spill their guts before they even thought about it. He was gentle where John was abrasive, thoughtful where John could be reckless. In any situation, a woman would look at John first, but if she were observant, she would discover Andy. Well, actually she would discover Andy’s fabulous hands. Andy touched, stroked, petted, and rubbed. Tish remembered one drunken girls’ night at Gwen’s where the Torchwood women spent forty-five minutes paying homage to Andy’s hands.

             And she was supposed to choose? Someday she _would_ kill Jack Harkness.

             She tossed back the last of her coffee and stood up. “So what are you planning for today?”

             John studied her for a few seconds, then smiled in a way that let Tish know he understood exactly what was going on in her mind.

             “We’re going to Fulworth. By car, just in case we need to make a quick exit. We have an old map from the seventeen-sixties that shows the original location of all the buildings that washed out to sea. We also brought a portable scanner. We should get something from those neural nets even if they are dormant.”

             “All right. Let’s get going.”

             They trooped out to the Fiat. Tish stared in dismay at the two-seater. The idea of being trapped between the men terrified her. “We won’t fit!”

             “Tish,” John said patiently, “we’re supposed to be fooling around. Being squished together makes a statement.”

             “I’ve an idea,” Andy said.  He slid into the passenger seat and held out a hand. Tish felt a moment’s panic then sat in Andy’s lap, making a conscious effort to relax into the body beneath her. Andy pulled the seat belt across both of them.

             “I’m usually stuck in here carrying something or another much less interesting than yourself,”  he confided, “ so I had him install an extra-long seatbelt.”

             She couldn’t help it. She giggled.

             The ride to Fulworth took only a few minutes. Tish had tried to keep contact with Andy to a minimum, but John’s insane driving had her leaning back and grasping at Andy’s arms in self-preservation. She couldn’t miss his arousal, but for the first time in almost twenty years she was attracted rather than repulsed.

             John found a small area to park on the verge of the churchyard, in plain view of curious passersby. He walked around to the passenger side and picked Tish out of Andy’s lap, brushing a light kiss over her lips as he set her down. She rolled her eyes at him.

             “Giving the locals something to think about?”

             “That, and giving the poor guy a little time to pull himself together. Can’t be easy, with you riding him the whole way.”

             The visual he implanted in her brain made her damn nearly melt. “You’re as bad as Jack!”

             “Considerably worse, actually.” He let her go. “But I don’t boast about it.”

             “Is Andy ok? Marie’s death was hard on him.”

             “He’s all right, although I’ll say you’re the first woman… Anyway. Not my place. Just be kind.”

             “I have a feeling I’m the wrong person to ask for kindness.” She sighed, then walked back to where Andy was standing. “Ready for the tour?”

             Andy was staring up at the church. “I thought it had been washed away.”

             “It was.” John said. “Every time it happens they rebuild from the original plan. This one dates from 1789.”

             They walked along the harbor road to the coffee shop, playing tourist. Andy whipped out his camera – Tish was willing to bet there were some highly specialized electronics built into the compact body – and kept snapping in every direction. John held Tish’s hand and flirted with both of them shamelessly. Tish couldn’t help but respond to his deliberate playfulness, and she found herself touching back, laughing, even at times siding with Andy to smack down John’s more outrageous antics. She noticed the speculative looks they got as they passed, but was having too much fun to care.

             He shop was busy. Out front a large party of walkers had pushed several tables together and was poring over maps while consuming prodigious amounts of coffee and pastries. Inside, a jittery bride and her equally jittery mother were squabbling over the merits of ganache versus fondant icing for the cake. Annie waved at Tish as she came in, then discreetly pointed at the bickering women and rolled her eyes. Then she looked past Tish at the two men behind her; her eyes widened and she primped a bit. Tish was startled by her insane desire to warn the teenager off her property.

             “Good morning, Annie.” Tish smiled at the girl as she put her hands unsubtly on the men’s shoulders. “This is Mr. Hart and this is Mr. Davidson. Guys, this is Annie Lovett. Her mother works for Jack and Ianto.”

             “I think I met your mother last time I was here,” John said. “She mentioned a daughter traveling in Australia for her gap year?”

             “That’s me.” Annie wriggled like a puppy. “We have scones and muffins fresh out of the oven and some nice Majorca bread. Would you like to try some samples?”

             “Love to.”

             Tish watched John charm Annie. The man was as big a flirt as Jack, but was rumored to have considerably less restraint. She wondered exactly how trustworthy he was.

             “John doesn’t rob cradles,” Andy stroked gently between her shoulder blades. “He says bedding virgins is a fool’s game.”

             She leaned into him, arching like a cat, and felt as well as heard his answering chuckle. She reached back and took his other hand, linking their fingers briefly.

             “Why don’t we get something to eat, then” Andy said, “and rescue poor John from his admirer?”

             They managed to redirect Annie’s attention to the coffee pot. Armed with scones and fresh coffee, they walked outside, but, to Tish’s surprise, John insisted on going down tot the tiny esplanade in front of the breakwater, where a couple of benches faced the bay.

             “Too many of the wrong sort about,” he said when she asked.

             “What do you mean, the wrong sort?”

             “The walkers,” Andy said. “Wrong sort of muscles, wrong sort of haircuts. Ex-soldiers.”

             “Ex?”

             “Yeah,” John said. “They’re starting to go soft and sloppy. They kept calling the ginger one Sarge. My instructors would have beaten me bloody for that sort of carelessness. Andy, do you think your pictures are ready?”

             “Should be.” He pulled out the camera and turned it on, pressing several buttons in rapid sequence. Instead of photos, the screen filled with a map of the town overlaid by a series of wave-form patterns. One of them, right around the church, was a bright red.

             “I guess the old ones are still the best.” John said. “They’ve recovered the artifacts and hidden them somewhere in the church.”

             “Logical,” said Andy. “Plenty of storage places, not to mention mausoleums and crypts.”

             “What does he want with it?” Tish asked. “It’s not as if…”

             She broke off as her phone rang. She looked at the screen. Martha.

             “Hey, sis…”

             “Hello, Letitia.” The deep, raspy voice drove all breath away from her lungs. “It’s lovely to see you after all these years.”

             “What the hell do you want, Stannick?”

             “Nice to see I haven’t been forgotten, Letitia. I’m glad, because you’ve grown more lovely every passing year. Although I’m disappointed in the company you keep. I might have to punish you for that, Letitia. I wonder if you remember how I punished you.”

             Tish was shaking all over, but she could see John making _keep him talking_ gestures as he and Andy did things to their own phones. “You will never get your hands on anything again, Stannick, least of all me. I’ll make sure of that myself.”

             “Insolent as ever. You seem to have forgotten all I taught you.”

             “You? You taught me nothing except to hate. You stupid man, I was doing Jack Harkness’ bidding at every step. A man hanging in chains in an engine room, being killed every week for entertainment, had more power over me than you ever did.”

             “I think we’ll have to meet again, Letitia. Tell your friends to stop trying to track me.”

             The phone went dead. Tish calmly returned it to her purse, then looked at John. “Did you track him?”

             “Better than that. Tracked his link. UNIT headquarters in London.” He  was texting rapidly as he spoke. “There. Any bets on what happens next?”

             “Jack kicks over the anthills.” Andy said. “UNIT needs a good airing out.”

             “And what about us? What do we do next?” Tish asked.

             “We go back home and wait for Jack. When he gives us the sign, we go into that church and get our hands on the artifacts.” John stood up, picking up Tish and swinging her around until she squealed. “And until then, we just keep all the eyes and ears guessing.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

             Tish stormed into the parlour. “I don’t want to argue about this, Andy.”

             “And I’m not arguing. I’m simply saying that if you don’t pull it all out into the open, it’ll kill you by degrees.”

             She poured herself a snifter of brandy and tossed it down with reckless disregard for her stomach lining. “What the hell are you, my father confessor?”

             “Tish…”

             “I’m sorry, Andy. God, I’m sorry.”  She collapsed onto the large sofa under the windows. “You’re probably right, but I don’t think I know how. I kept my sanity by burying everything away. I’m afraid. God, I’m afraid.”

             “Of what?” John leaned against the door jamb, hands in pockets. “Of what you’ll say or of what people will think?”

             “Both, I suppose.”

             Andy knelt on the floor in front of her. “Tish, I was a cop for ten years, the last four in homicide. Then I joined Torchwood. There’s nothing you can say I haven’t seen already. And nothing will change my opinion of you. Even if I didn’t know you, I know Jack, and he trusts you implicitly. He would kill for you. He thinks you’re bloody amazing. And so do I.”

             “Besides,” John said, “if there’s one thing I know, it’s that monsters can only thrive in the dark. You’ve been feeding the monster for twenty years, Tish. If you don’t deal with it now, when you come face to face with Stannick you’ll freeze. You won’t see the man, you’ll see the monster.”

             “I’ll deal with Stannick!”

             “No, you won’t,” he snapped back. “You won’t even deal with him now. Tell me, Tish, when was the last time you trusted a man enough to let him see you naked? Hold you naked?”

             “What the hell do you know about it?” Goaded beyond control. She flung herself upwards, nearly knocking Andy on his arse. “Do you even know what he did to me?”

             “I know that you don’t like to be touched.”

             “Tish,” Andy stood behind her, arms loosely at his side, “Did he rape you?”

             “Oh, I wish he had! That I could understand. Saxon raped me. Once, early on. For the variety, he said. Then he discovered Jack’s little gift and it was all Jack all the time. I was his servant, his slave. Then one day he gave me to Stannick, as a thank you for destroying Japan. Gave me!” She was screaming now. “Can you even imagine what it’s like to be given away like a piece of candy or a pair of socks? I was property, to be passed around at my master’s will. I had no control of any kind, over anything. Do you know what that does to you?”

             “You said Stannick didn’t rape you.”

             “No. He was disgusted by touch. Wore gloves all the time and washed his hands constantly. No. He liked to look. He would have me strip and pose me in every humiliating, painful, degrading way he could think of. For hours. If I fell out of the pose he would cane me and pose me again and I would have to hold the pose for twice as long.” She turned her back on them to stare out the window. “I don’t think I can talk about this anymore.”

             “It’s a matter of power, isn’t it?” Andy asked. “You don’t trust anyone to have power over you. But do you trust yourself to have power over others?”

             “What do you mean?”

             “Tish,” John murmured, “look at us.”

             She turned. They stood in front of her, smiling, relaxed.

             “We trust you,” Andy said.

             They started to strip off their clothes. She tried to say something, anything, but her voice seemed locked away along with her breath. Once completely nude they knelt in front of her, hands held loosely behind their backs.

             “Your power.” John said. “Your choice.”

             She reached out, hesitantly, to run her hands over their hair. She felt their shivers as she stoked down their necks. Slowly, she dragged her hands back up to caress their upturned faces. She knew, in that moment, exactly what she wanted. She still didn’t know if she could go through with it, but, god, she wanted it beyond words and breath and sanity.

             “I’m greedy. I don’t want to choose.” The sudden leap of heat in their eyes made her resolution stumble a little. “I don’t know if I can…”

             “As far as you want,” John said.” Whatever you want.”

             “Can I just… look at you?”

             They stood up, holding themselves still, allowing her to explore. Afternoon sunlight washed their skin with gold highlights. So beautiful, her men. John was slightly tanned all over. He was surprisingly muscular. At first sight he seemed hairless, but when she ran her fingers over his chest she could feel a covering of fine, almost invisible, hair the exact color of his skin; a darker line arrowed from his bellybutton to his groin, where it widened into a fine mat around his genitals. She ran her fingers through it until she reached his cock, large and slightly curved. It fitted her palm exactly as her fingers curved around it.

             The slight sound he made went straight to her cunt. Without letting go of him she turned towards Andy, offering her mouth. He accepted the invitation, leaning in to cover it with his, nibbling along her lower lip, thrusting his tongue lazily past her teeth to wrap around hers. She wanted more, voracious now, so she brought up her other hand to grip his skull and press him closer so she could devour him. She kept it up until she could see spots in front of her eyes from lack of oxygen, then released him reluctantly, trailing kisses along his jaw. His whispered _Duw_ filled her with a reckless sort of courage.

             She stepped back and held out her arms. “Would you take my clothes off? He always made me…”

             Andy touched his fingers to her lips. “No. He has no place here.”

             He moved behind her, wrapping his arms loosely around her waist and grasping the hem of her jumper. She raised her arms compliantly and he pulled it up slowly, then tossed it on the couch behind him.

             “Can I touch you?”

             “Yes,” she sighed more than said. “Please.”

             He ran his hand up her arms and across her shoulders until he found the straps of her camisole. Brushing his fingers lightly downwards along the lace he found her erect nipples. He brushed his thumbs across them as his palms cradled her breasts and kneaded. She looked down to see his big, capable fingers flex slightly with each gentle squeeze. She wanted desperately to feel them on her skin with nothing in between them. Impatient, she pushed his hands down to the hem of her camisole.

             He laughed in her ear. “You’re burning up.”

             This time he wasn’t slow. He yanked the camisole over her head and returned to her breasts. God, now she knew what they meant about his hands. Strong, with slightly rough palms, they knew exactly how to move over her. He sculpted her, alternating flat strokes and gentle squeezes; a hard pinch to her nipples made a little bubble of pleasure burst between her legs.

             The hot gush made her realize that she was still dressed from the waist down. She looked at John. He was watching them, pupils huge and dark, and his hand pumping his cock lazily.

             “Stop that,” she admonished grumpily, “That’s mine!”

             He laughed as he dropped to his knees. He removed her boots and socks then undid her trousers and dragged them and her panties off. Sitting back on his heels he admired her.

             “I don’t think you know how beautiful you look right now.”

             He ran his hands up her legs and nudged them open; sudden panic made her want to close them. Noticing her fear, Andy ran one of his hands down to her mound to caress her lips.

             “Let him, cariad. He wants to see you, kiss you, suck you. We want you so much.”

             Moaning, she turned her head and kissed him. Reaching behind, she grabbed his buttocks, pressing her own against his erection. She loved the way he groaned into her mouth, so she rocked her hips slightly to hear it again, but it was she who moaned when she felt John’s tongue against her. She looked down to see his face buried against her. His hands held her hips in place as he laved her with long strokes. She watched as one of his hands moved between her legs and felt two of his fingers enter her, stroking in and out. She keened and thrust her hips forward. He nibbled at her as he stroked, then took her clitoris into his mouth and sucked hard at the same time Andy rolled and twisted her nipples.

             She came, shaking from head to toes. If Andy hadn’t been holding her, she would have collapsed. John stood up and offered his fingers to Andy, who sucked on them eagerly.

             “Tasty,” he whispered in her ear. “But this was just an appetizer. What else do you want?”

             “Can I ask something personal?” His grin made her realize how silly she sounded. There could be nothing more personal than the way he held her, hands cradling her breasts and his erection rubbing slightly against the crack of her arse. “Have you ever been with a man?”

             “Yes.”

             “Would you… I know John is bisexual… would you let him kiss you?”

             “Maybe you should ask him if he wants to kiss me.”

             John’s answer was quick and to the point. Reaching over her shoulder, he pressed his mouth to Andy’s. For a few heartbeats Andy seemed to accept it passively, but then his hand grasped the back of John’s neck to pull him closer. From her angle, Tish could see their tongues tangling. When John reached around to grab Andy’s arse, she found herself the meat in a man-sandwich. Her own arousal began to build again as she felt their cocks rub rhythmically against her. She moved aside, letting their bodies press fully against each other, watching as they rocked in shallow thrusts, never breaking the kiss. She thought it was the sexiest thing she had ever seen.

             She tried to pull away to get a better view, but found herself caught in John’s grip. “Next time we’ll fuck each other senseless and let you watch. But this time we want you. Can we have you, Tish? Will you let us?”

             She nodded, mouth suddenly dry. Andy picked up a throw from the back of the couch and spread it along the seat. John brought Tish’s hand up to his lips and kissed the palm.

             “Any preferences, my lady?”

             She pushed him down to sit on the couch, then straddled him, her back to his chest. Raising herself up, she positioned his leaking cock at her entrance and slowly slid down until she was fully impaled, then held out her hand to Andy. He caught it in his. She pulled him closer until he was right in front of her.

             John started to rock in short, shallow thrusts as she ran her hands over Andy’s body. He was whipcord lean. Brown curls covered his upper chest, then ran in a thick line between his nipples and down to his groin. His cock was not as large as John’s but it was twice as thick, with a heavy, mushroom-shaped head. Thick, creamy liquid leaked from the large slit.

             “Vanilla cream.”

             “What?” he looked down at her, grinning, daring her to repeat her nonsense.

             “Never mind.”

             She grabbed his hips as she brought his cock to her lips, swiping her tongue along the broad head, then down the thick vein along the underside. She licked at it as if it were an ice-cream cone, wrapping her tongue around it. She felt John’s hands run up her torso and cup her breasts, rubbing her nipples. She pressed her hips down hard as she opened her mouth wide and took in as much of Andy as she could. His hands stroked her head, shoulders, and neck as she sucked, dipping her tongue into his slit to lap up his pre-come.

             Their movements became frantic. Tish could hear her lovers moaning. Andy was thrusting into her mouth in perfect counterpoint to John’s thrusts into her sheath. She burned up in the glorious heat they generated. Her men. _Hers._

             She felt their orgasms roll through their bodies. Andy’s legs were quivering, barely holding him up. John’s heart beat frantically as if wanting to escape his chest. And her body… she felt energy pooling at the base of her spine and travel into her womb. She tightened around John and heard him groan. She felt him spurt into her. His hand slid down to press into her curls and rub hard at the base of her mount. She nearly screamed with the sensation. She sucked hard and felt Andy explode in her mouth. Her world narrowed down to the two men – _her men_ – nothing existed but the amazing knowledge that she had brought them such pleasure. And then she heard Andy’s whisper.

             “Come for us, cariad.”

             Pleasure burst along every nerve ending. She collapsed back into John’s arms, her back arched, her mouth open in a long, soundless scream. Andy followed her, ending up on his knees with his upper body on top of hers.

             They rested in each other’s arms, trying to catch their breath.

             “We should go upstairs,” Andy said, not moving an inch.

             “Yeah,” John said. “Later. On the floor, Andy.”

             Andy dropped onto the carpet. John followed, carefully juggling Tish so she lay half on Andy, half on the rug. He pulled down a couple of cushions to serve as pillows, spread the heavy throw over all of them, then pressed himself against Tish’s back. Warm and cozy in their improvised bed, they slept.

 


	5. Chapter 5

             John Hart was, if truth be told, feeling a little raw. It hadn’t been hard to figure out what Jack was trying to do; Tish had been heading for a crash for a while now, and Andy was the kind of person who thrived on caring for others. He, John, was supposed to serve as the primer for their explosion. Instead, Tish’s  amazing sexual intensity-- locked away for two decades-- had pulled them into something none of them could have expected.

             It had been fantastic, and in any other circumstances he would have jumped in head first and damn the gravity mines.  But these were not two casual strangers he’d found while on the pull; these were people he was connected to at so many levels the relationship tree resembled a spiderweb.  Worse, they were people for whom he had some feeling.

             In his own place and time none of this would have been a problem. The triad was the most common type of formal partnership among his people; when he had first met Jack, he had thought the idea of a two-parent household quite bizarre. But he lived and would die – by choice – in a place his people would consider barbaric. No matter how much people cared for each other, social pressure, even unspoken, would suck the air out of it. And none of them had the option to get up and leave

            “What are you doing up?”

             He looked up to see Andy lounging in the doorway, wearing only a few goosebumps.

             “Just waiting until I can call Jack. Go back to bed, Andy.”

             “I don’t think so.” He walked up John, grabbed the cup of coffee from his hand, and took a sip. “Ugh. Cold. You’ve been thinking too much, Hart.”

             “Andy…”

             “No. You are not going to cut and run. You are not going to do the so-called right thing. You are going to go back upstairs with me and we’re going to fuck each other senseless while Tish watches.”

             “Bloody hell, Andy…”

             “Listen to me, John. I don’t know what this is or whether we can make it work, or even if we will want to. I do know we are going to enjoy each other and let things develop.” He grinned wickedly. “Come on, John. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about us at least once.”

             “Bloody Welshman.” He grabbed Andy by the scruff of the neck and pulled him close. The kiss started as half raw sex and half battle for domination then settled into a long, unhurried exploration. By the time their mouths separated they were both hard as rock and panting for air. “Upstairs.”

             When they walked into the bedroom they found Tish sitting up, still half-asleep. She perked up when she noticed their arousal. “Playing without me, guys?”

             “Nope.” Andy landed a quick kiss in the vicinity of her ear. “Playing for you. Didn’t you say you wanted to watch?”

             Tish looked like it was Christmas morning and Father Christmas had brought her everything she had asked for. John could not resist her in spite of his best intentions. He stripped off his trousers and climbed into bed. He snagged Andy and pulled him in with them. Tish scooted back until she was sitting up propped against the headboard, giving them the full range of the bed.

             Andy crawled on top of John, legs on either side of his hips. He ran his tongue along John’s jaw to his chin, where he took a light bite before reaching John’s mouth. As they kissed, John ran his hands down Andy’s back, caressing him from shoulders to arse, then past it to gently rub at the heavy ball sack. Andy arched, a long whispered _aaahh_ escaping him. Out of the corner of his eye John could see Tish, eyes wide and feverish, mouth slightly open, one hand stroking between her legs. She looked so beautiful and so needy John wanted to give her everything she could possibly want.

             Grabbing Andy around the waist he flipped them over. The movement brought them close to Tish. He leaned in and bit her thigh then licked the spot.

             “Feel free to join in whenever you want.” He carded his fingers through Andy’s hair. “I’ve been wondering what this would be like for years.”

             “Me too.” Andy laughed. “And I just realized it.”

              Andy reached between their bodies to grasp John’s cock. John lowered his head and licked at Andy’s lips until the Welshman growled and tried to take a bite at his tongue. John pressed butterfly kisses at the corner of Andy’s mouth, down his throat, and across his shoulders. Andy pumped John’s cock a few times then pressed it against his, holding them together in a loose fist as he started to move.

             The friction drove John nearly insane. He tried to break the contract but Andy threw his legs around him and kept him in place. His arousal was heightened even more by the little sounds Tish was making as she rubbed her clitoris. He surrendered to the heat, pressing his mouth against Andy’s neck and matching his movements. It was fire and greed twisting together to create a glorious explosion that burned rational thought out of his brain. He wrapped his hand around Andy’s and squeezed hard.  Andy’s howl as he came was matched by Tish’s sweet little whimper; the combination pushed John over the edge.

             As their heart rates returned to normal, the two men pulled Tish between them. She was flushed, her skin damp. They caressed and stroked her body, sampling her with mouths and hands as she lay pliant.

             “So good,” she whispered. “It feels so good.”

             “Yes, you do.” John kissed her throat then her nipple. “You feel terrific.”

             He stood up, stretching, and padded into the bathroom. Moistening a hand towel in warm water, he wiped himself down then toweled off. The earlier uncertainty had been replaced by satisfaction and a certain amount of determination. Damn the gravity mines indeed.

             He soaked a larger towel, tossed a dry one over his shoulder, and returned to the bedroom. Tish and Andy were drowsing in each other’s arms. John’s attempt at separating them was met with sleepy grumbles.

             “Come on, you two. Let’s get you clean. You can go back to sleep in a minute.”

             He cleaned and dried them, then maneuvered them under the duvet. After wiping the worst of the mess off the duvet cover he slid in behind Tish, reaching across her to touch Andy. He smiled as he felt the other man tangle their fingers together. Fully at peace for the first time in a great many years, he allowed himself to slide into sleep.

             The sound of his phone ringing woke him several hours later. He remembered putting it in the bedside table when they had come upstairs the first time. Disoriented, he made a grab for it and missed.

             “Hold on,” Tish climbed across him to pick up the phone then settled back down. “Yes?”

             “Tish?” John could hear Jack’s obscenely cheerful  I've-had-my-coffee morning voice. “What are you doing answering John’s phone?”

             “None of your business, Jack.”

             The voices roused Andy. “Tell bloody Harkness to call back at a reasonable hour,” he said crankily before turning over and burying his face against Tish’s back.

             There was a long silence at the other end. John felt the tension grip Tish’s body, and found he was holding his breath. Jack’s opinion was very important to Tish and Jack could be ridiculously overprotective of people he loved. He geared himself for battle.

             “Letitia Jones!” Jack’s delight was obvious. “I knew you had it in you. Or should I say you’ve had them in you?”

             John snatched the phone from Tish’s hand. “What do you want, Jack?”

             “Protective, John?”

             “Jack…”

             “All right, all right! We’ve been busy pulling rugs out from under people’s feet. You will not be surprised to hear that there will be several spending-more-time-with-their-families resignations in the coming months. The cocky bastards didn’t even bother to hide their tracks.”

             “So what was this all about?”

             “It seems some bright young things in Westminster didn’t like the most recent demographic trends. Neither did a couple of UNIT commanders.”

             “Ah. Miriam Ndunyu.”

             “Yeah. They seemed to be a bit put out by the fact that the next prime minister most likely will be a black woman from a working-class neighborhood in Liverpool. Or that the best known Tory happens to be David Zheng from Cardiff.”

             “So no Daleks, Sontarans, or Cybermen. Just your garden-variety racists.”

             “At this time in Earth’s history they’re probably more dangerous.”

             “What were they planning to do?”

             “That’s the stupid part. They weren’t planning. Elizabeth Norton found out about the Valiant from her father, Commander Allan Norton. He was a supply officer working with the Toclafane, and hated every blessed minute of it. As a matter of fact, I suspected him of being one of Lucy’s contacts. He became obsessed with tracking down Stannick. After his death she found his research and used it. They hoped Stannick would lead their movement.”

             “And is he?”

             “According to Shaw, they were still in negotiations. He seemed extremely put out that his idol didn’t seem interested in leading a racial purity crusade.”

             Tish had been listening quietly. “That still leaves Stannick with a basket full of Alhabaaran jewelry.”

             “Yeah,” Jack said, “and the remnants of his old squadron according to what John sent us. I recognized the ginger one. Sergeant Major Ted Greene, a sadistic bastard and utterly devoted to Stannick.”

             “What do you want us to do?”

             “Sit tight. We’re on our way with troops of our own. We should be there by early evening.” After a pause, Jack said very softly. “And John… you and Andy and I… we _will_ talk.”

             “Absolutely.”

             He put the phone back on the table and turned to Tish and Andy.

             “From the Torchwood point of view this seems to have been more farce than tragedy.”

             Andy suddenly looked nervous. “Did Jack say anything about…?”

             “He sounded happy for me,” Tish whispered.

             John rolled his eyes. “Of course he is, sweetheart. And part of him recognizes that you are a grown woman who needs and deserves a satisfying sex life. But you are also his baby sister. We” he pointed to Andy then at himself, “will get the third degree, complete with threats of severe bodily harm.”

             “Don’t look so horrified, cariad.” Andy kissed Tish lightly. “We’re tough guys. We can take it. I think.”

             They lazed the day away, never too far out of each other’s reach, touching petting, kissing. Whatever was growing between them – and all of them shied away from giving it a name – demanded constant reaffirmation. After lunch, Andy instigated a make-out session on the couch that left them breathless and aroused. They were considering a mad dash upstairs when Tish’s phone rang. She fished it out of her purse and pressed the answer button.

             “Hello.”

             “Letitia.”

             “I don’t want to talk to you, Stannick.”

             Andy and John came up off the couch as if jet-propelled. They crowded around her, pressing their heads against hers to try to hear both ends of the conversation.

             “You will listen, Letitia, unless you want the girl to die.”

             “What girl?”

             “The nice girl from the shop. You seemed to like her a great deal. You and your… the men with you… will come to Fulworth immediately. You will not inform your superiors or the girl will pay.”

             “Lovers, Stannick, the word you’re looking for is lovers. And why should I believe you have the girl?”

             There was a short pause then all of them could hear Annie Lovett’s terrified voice.

             “I’m sorry, Miss Jones. I’m sorry, but he says he’ll kill me if you don’t show up. Please help me. Please!” 


	6. Chapter 6

             John parked the car in the same place as before. As they started up the path to the church, the men took guard positions at either side of Tish. They kept in constant touch, but their eyes scanned the area constantly. As Stannick had instructed they were not carrying weapons, but she felt confident they were not unarmed. They were Torchwood, after all, and trained by Jack Harkness.

             As they reached the lychgate, she heard the first rumble of thunder out over the channel. The lunch-time weather report had predicted storms for the next day, but it sounded as if Mother Nature was flaunting her reputation for unpredictability. She looked over her shoulder. Dark clouds were racing towards land, and whitecaps dotted the water.

             “It’s going to rain,” she whispered.

             “It’s going to pour, thank God,” Andy answered the same way. “One good storm and the no-sound gizmo and we’ll have them blind.”

             “No-sound gizmo? Is that the technical term for it?” she teased.

             He gave one of his expressive shrugs. “It’s shorter than _fiberoptic-guided spread spectrum sound wave disruptor_.”

             She threaded her arm through his. “I guess so!”

             The churchyard was beautifully kept, with small benches set under the trees and rose bushes lining the walk. As they passed one spectacular specimen, John broke off a bloom and presented it to her. It had delicate golden petals that shaded to a rich burgundy at the throat.

             “Reminds me of you,” was all he said.

             They entered the church through the transept door. It was rather plain, but as well kept as the churchyard. Dark wood gleamed under decades of careful waxing. The simple silver crucifix on the main altar spoke of an ascetic faith, while two graceful urns filled with greenery and wild flowers lent a romantic touch. But it was the glorious rose window behind it that caught and held the eye. The stained glass showed Fulworth during a storm; beyond the headlands, a ship was breaking up against the rocks while up on the hill the church blazed with light.

             “I suppose a seafaring town would ask for protection against storms,” John said. “But isn’t that an unusual subject for the main window of a church?”

             Andy was examining the scene with a look of undisguised horror. “It wasn’t an accident.”

             “What do you mean?” Tish asked.

             “The lady Eve. And a couple of dozen others, I imagine.” He pointed at the lower left hand part, where a smaller light shone weakly. “That’s the Fulworth light on the other side of the bay. Picture yourself out on the Channel on a ship being tossed around. You know the Fulworth light can get you past the rocks and into harbor. Suddenly you see it, a bright conflagration on the horizon. The darkness and the storm are playing merry hell with your ability to judge distances. You can’t even tell exactly where things are, so the idea that what you are seeing is actually half-way up the cliff doesn’t even enter your mind. You aim for the light and pray. You don’t know, you _can’t_ know, they’re luring you onto the rocks.”

             “Very good, Mr. Davidson.”

             They turned towards the voice. At the chancel entrance, two men wearing standard UNIT camouflage flanked another wearing a twenty-year old colonel’s uniform. Tish had promised herself she would not give Stannick the pleasure of a reaction, but she couldn’t control the gasp that escaped her when she saw him.

             Stannick was in a wheelchair. His legs were missing from the knees down. The trousers had been neatly pinned out of the way. There was severe scarring on the right side of his neck  that extended up into the scalp. His hair had been shaved away from  the scarred areas and kept closely cropped on the rest. The only thing that were as she remembered were his eyes: burning hot in a cold face, they weighed everything and everyone and found them all wanting.

             “The villagers were terrified when most of the town slid into the harbor after the Lady Eve sank. They took it as a sign of God’s displeasure. When they built the church they placed a permanent reminder of their sin up there for all to see.”

             He pressed a button and the chair glided forward until he was a short distance from them. “Well, Letitia. Aren’t you going to ask me what happened?”

             “Toclafane,” John said before she could speak. “The burn pattern is quite distinctive.”

             “Ah. The mysterious John Hart. Rumor has it you have more familiarity with certain events than you should have.”

             “Amazing what the Rift will toss up. “How did you manage to piss off the poisonous little pus bags?”

             “At the end, when the Doctor started to regenerate, I realized that strategic retreat was my best option. I gathered my squadron and headed for the escape pods. Unfortunately I didn’t know the Master had given the Toclafane very specific instructions about dealing with traitors.” He made a dismissing motion. “I survived.”

             He maneuvered the wheelchair until he was directly facing Tish. “Letitia. I’ve wanted to see you again for a very long time.”

             “Where’s Annie, Stannick?”

             “Always worried about others. I remember how you worried about Harkness. You know, I expected to hear good news about the two of you. Instead he went back to his beautiful boy in Cardiff and sent you off to University like an errant daughter. Did it bother you to know you weren’t good enough for him, Letitia?”

             Outside, the storm finally broke. Thunder rolled directly overhead, and wind and rain rattled the windows. Tish felt oddly energized. At any other time she would have thought about ozone levels; now she drew on the elemental rage.

             “Don’t worry about my ego, Colonel. These days it’s pretty damn healthy. Now why don’t you have one of your goons bring Annie here?”

             “You have disappointed me, Letitia. You were so virginal, so special. Now I find you rutting with two men like a common whore.”

             “Oi!” Andy slammed his hand down on the back of one of the pews. “Watch your mouth.”

             Stannick slid contemptuous eyes over him. “Hart I could understand, Letitia. He has a certain reputation. But this one? A street cop Harkness picked out of the gutter because he needed cannon fodder? You have demeaned yourself by crawling into his bed.”

             John’s peal of laughter had them all whipping around. “Now, see, that tells me your intel is not nearly good enough. Not that is was any better in the Valiant, either.”

             “Explain, Mr. Hart.”

             “You spent a lot of time looking for spies in the Valiant. Everyone knew information was getting back to the resistance, especially to the Cleddyfwyr in Cardiff. You never found them.”

             Stannick twisted to look at Andy. “Him? That is an unworthy lie, Hart. I know about Mrs. Saxon.”

             “Lucy concentrated in keeping the security forces misinformed about the real identity of the Cleddyfwyr. Andy here gathered intel and fed it back to the Hub. He was the one your counterintelligence analysts code-named the Ghost in the Machine.” John laughed again. “They never suspected. I mean, really, who would look twice at a quiet little local police liaison?”

             Stannick considered the information, then nodded. “My apologies, Mr. Davidson. I seem to have underestimated you.”

             “Plenty of people do.” Andy shrugged. “It works out very nicely for me. But now that we seem to understand each other…why are you stalling?”

             “I do not understand.”

             “Don’t start our new relationship by lying to my face, Colonel. You have been chatting up a storm, but you’ve kept your eye on the Lady chapel the whole time.Your two bodyguards haven’t twitched an eyelid since you got here. Now, that’s not natural, even for trained palace guards. If you look closely, you can see the bracelets under the shirt cuffs. You’re wearing a similar one. The natural assumption would be you are controlling them, but the thing is, you have been fixated on driving Tish into fits. I don’t think you could have maintained such perfect control throughout. I think somebody else is in control here and you are dancing to their tune.” He raised his voice. “Right, Annie?”

             The girl stepped out from behind the Lady chapel screen. She wore trousers and a tunic made up to resemble an old UNIT uniform by a rather inexpert sewing hand. Around her neck, resting against the hollow of her throat, was a large triangular gold pendant with a bluish stone in its center. She carried a standard issue UNIT gun. But it was her face that explained so much to Tish.

             Scrubbed clean of the Goth makeup and with her exhuberant curls ruthlessly smoothed back, Annie was a female version of Stannick.

             “How did you know?” Her sing-song voice chilled Tish. “I was very careful.”

             “Yes, you were, but I’m trained to look at faces, not at makeup. The moment I saw your Tad, I knew. You’re very like him.”

             “I’m exactly like him. Exactly. “

             “Annie…” Tish kept her voice low and submissive. “Why are you doing this?”       




             “I have to protect him, don’t I? Mum and I have always protected him. Captain Harkness was not a problem, he’s almost never here, and besides, Mum says he saw Dad only once or twice. But you knew him very well.  Mum always says you’re the one we have to worry about.”

             “Annie,” said Andy, “where is your mum?”

             “She’s not strong enough anymore so I gave her some of her medication. She has terrible nightmares, can’t sleep without it. She’ll sleep a long time.”

             John started to move away slowly, keeping his hands open and relaxed. “Do what, Annie? What couldn’t your mum do?”

             “Convince Dad to help those others who came from London. See, I figure if Dad’s a colonel again, with lots of soldiers and people obeying his orders, we’ll be safe. But he won’t do it!” her voice rose in a shrill whine. “Even after I put a bracelet on him, he won’t do it!”

             While John kept Annie occupied, Tish moved closer to Stannick. “How long has she been this way?”

             “I don’t think she’s ever been quite sane.” Shockingly she could see grief in his eyes. “Mary’s influence and my own genetic deficiencies.”

             “She’s your clone, isn’t she?”

             He nodded. “Mary wanted a child and it seemed the least… distasteful way. I didn’t realize I could come to love her so much. Or feel so helpless.”

             Tish couldn’t find any words that would adequately express the roiling mass at the pit of her stomach. After so many years of hate and fear, finding a grieving father rather than a monster was almost more than she could bear.

             “She’s my penance for you, I think,” Stannick mused. “You scared me. I felt things for you that terrified me, so I abused you. The more I felt, the more I did it.” He held up a hand. “Don’t say it. I know how inadequate and self-serving it sounds. I doesn’t excuse a damn thing and you have the absolute right to hate me until the day you die.”

             Tish’s choked sob attracted Annie’s attention. “What are you doing to him? What are you doing?”

             “She’s not doing anything, Annie.” Stannick soothed. “We’re talking, that’s all.”

             “Well, I don’t like it. Mum says you really like her. I don’t think you should like her. She can hurt us really bad.”

             She brought the gun up.

             “Annie, don’t!” Stannick gripped the arms of his chair, leveraging himself up.

             “If I kill her, you’ll be safe. We can call your friends from London and we can be safe with them.” She aimed carefully as if she were in a shooting range. “We’ll be safe.”

             As she fired, Stannick launched himself out of his chair, shoving Tish out of the way. The shot caught him in the stomach and he landed heavily on the flagstones. Annie started to scream, aiming and shooting at random. The two men by the door collapsed as if they were puppets and someone had cut off their strings. Their faces went from blankness to terror, and they tried to crawl towards the door. John dove into Annie’s legs, bringing her down. She kicked and scratched as she tried to fight him off.  Keeping her pinned down, he took a capsule out of his pocket and popped it under her nose. She went still. When he moved away, she curled into a foetal position, sobbing quietly.

             Tish crawled to her hands and knees and looked around. “Andy!”

             She ran to him. He was sitting in one of the pews, holding his arm. “It’s nothing, cariad. Just a graze. I won’t even need stitches.”

             “Be quiet,” she snapped. “You could have been killed.”

             He pulled her to him. She hid her face in his neck and held out her hand demandingly. John came up behind them and took it, pressing himself to her, holding on to Andy with his other hand. They didn’t even notice the shouting and running outside, nor the small group that ran into the church, guns drawn.

             “Well, hell. You were right, Jack. How am I going to explain this to mother?”

             “Let Tish do it. She’s a clever girl.”

             Tish looked up. “Don’t worry, Martha. I’ll just tell her Jack gave them to me.”


End file.
